Sense and Sensibility: Sisterhood of the Meandering Sense

If you’re one of the few who never read Jane Austen in high school (I forget how that slipped through the cracks), you may have already done yourself a disservice, right as a new adaptation of her works has arrived in theaters. To the uninitiated, her style, delivery, and atmospherics feel like an alien language half the time. Her sense of humanity fills the other half, tender enough to leave viewers in cozy suspense. Two generations after Ang Lee made a glittering adaptation of Sense and Sensibility, that 1811 novel has come back to roost, the focus honed more on its sisterhood stronghold despite the same familiar headaches; a narrow escape from boredom, but not quite diving for the spectacular, either.

Director Georgia Oakley nailed her approach to period accuracy with her 2022 feature debut, Blue Jean, a tale of liberation amid the shifting tide of England’s LGBTQ rights in the late-eighties. A similarly quiet yet frustrated footprint grows in her and novelist-turned-screenwriter Diana Reid’s spin on Austen, which stays a little paint-by-numbers, entrusting her cast to make do with the manuscript’s dull, olde English edge.

It’s perhaps the only thing to do when one’s livelihood is suddenly threatened: carry on. The three Dashwood sisters – Elinor (Daisy Edgar-Jones), Marianne (Esmé Creed-Miles), and Margaret (Bodhi Rae Breathnach) – along with their mother (Caitríona Balfe), are facing a depletion of their wealth and a loss of full control of their haughty country estate following their father’s death, with the deed handed over to their half-brother John (Frank Dillane), who, along with his wife Fanny (Stacy Martin), wastes no time making themselves comfortable. The sisters are looking for a new revenue stream to (narrowly) avoid poverty. Supported by Mrs. Jennings (Fiona Shaw), a mediating relative and amateur matchmaker, the three sisters set out on their own paths for opportunity and find reliable other halves.

Elinor soon eyes the affection of Fanny’s oldest brother Edward (George MacKay), and bides her time awaiting a formal proposal, even as he has other interests. Meanwhile, Marianne has her sights set on time along the coast with the spirited Colonel Brandon (Herbert Nordrum). And Margaret, the youngest, stays on the sidelines as a mere observer, rallying support wherever she can. Elinor and Marianne trust their guts to helm the plot, chart unfamiliar territory, and protect their family name.

Sense is, supposedly, the be-all and end-all of coming-of-age tales for a particular generation of scholarly bookworms and romance fans. The latter may apply to me just faintly, on the outskirts. There’s no sugarcoating it. Even with its sense of adventure taking delicate liberties, those hopeful intentions get lost in a methodical attitude and pacing that might feel longer than the novel, depending on who you’re talking to. Oakley takes a more literal route with her approach to the story, where any flights of fancy are naught more than mechanical, words feel heavy, and the comedy is outright brittle. Even with her core values in place, the pieces do not fit as well as the material would otherwise dictate. It doesn’t reward a variant attention span as much as it leaves one lost between societal nitpicking and blatant woo-pitching.

Those affairs in the lattermost aspect help Oakley’s vision avoid total unwatchability: the polite, unrequited manners of courting, common in Austen’s writing. The director is still bound to show some faithfulness to the source material when not distracted by the goal of embellishment, and inevitably risks losing the point of it all, rebounding from scratch after realizing any effort to deviate from the OG is simply asking for trouble.

At least the notion of eventually picking up those discarded pieces can be worn like an advancement badge on Oakley’s sleeve, leaning on the fallacies in the Dashwoods’ previous existence, and the evolution they must undertake. It feels more like a drama than anything else, a test of the characters’ resilience in the fight with (and against) the social ladder. Surely, yes, I wish there’d been more satire to play with. But the idea of taking a serious stab at empowering relationships makes up most of the slack, in a hub of scenic ambience delicately shot by Arnaud Poitier.

Does it still leave me uneasy that, despite what Oakley gets right and can make fresh with Sense, it’s nowhere near the lengths it could’ve gone? Yes, a thousand times over, which pushes a robust cast to overdeliver; all of whom are least deserving of fault. Edgar-Jones is lifting this version fully on her shoulders, with Creed-Miles holding firm on her six. They are the right sort of tone-setters to share the screen, exuding unabashed elegance, cunning charm, and a steady equanimity to leap past any masculine disillusionment.

That much is a product MacKay propels in a fair reflection of Austen’s writing, striving to go the extra mile while humbled by Reid’s retelling. His upbeat bravado, not excessive in ego but not free of self-absorption either, kept him engaging and affable, like one would imagine a grubby socialite of that time, or, more considerably, nowadays. It’s Shaw’s efforts, however, that had me most in repose, stunned and elated by how to convey Austenian prose. Her warmth and advocacy to the Dashwood clan are inimitable, ballast for a determined path ahead. One wishes she had more screen time to tinker, to champion that self-assurance.

Ultimately, the dogmatic quest for an inner compass as our safety net unravels below us remains the core of this version of Sense and Sensibility, as much as I imagine Lee aimed for back in ’95, beneath a noticeable umbrella of fantasy. Oakley proves herself capable enough for this job that her vision stands alongside past takes. It didn’t do nearly enough to stand out, however; more keen to go through the motions, be timid yet gentle-hearted, and let the character development take control, smoothing out those communication gaps. That is never a bad thing, but Austen seemed to believe in more than the basic mechanics of storytelling. Therefore, there is little sense in overlooking a necessary social commentary. More lifelong fans of the author’s resume will crave better, and it won’t be by accident. (C+; 2.5/5)

Sense and Sensibility opens in theaters Oct. 16; previews begin Oct. 15 at 2 PM; rated PG for some thematic elements, partial nudity, and brief violence; 132 minutes.